


I Will Never Die

by ThePurpleOwlet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, Fluff, M/M, Spark Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7268761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePurpleOwlet/pseuds/ThePurpleOwlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyclonus reflects to their relationship, and the current situation. Immediately at the beginning of #54.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Never Die

**Author's Note:**

> Update! A very kind friend betaed this for me (my eternal gratitude for it!), so I fixed the grammar. Didn't do any other edits, everything else remained as it was.  
> \---------------  
> Okay, so. I'm overly excited about #54, it comes out today, and just couldn't do anything - had to write something, preventing insanity.
> 
> Influence: Delta Rae - I Will Never Die https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ieUQxZQXrg
> 
> Two important things:  
> 1\. Because I wanted to post it before the issue comes out, I didn't have the time to find a beta - but I plan to, so maybe there would be minor edits. I may accidentally left typos, and most definitely awful grammar errors.  
> 2\. English is not my native language, and in fact, this is my very first fic I wrote not on my language. So, please, be kind, when pointing out any of my mistakes - constructive criticism is always welcomed, tho :) Also, didn't wanna reach any peak of high literature, and I am aware that it might be appear as crap, when I'll re-read it next time. Maybe call this a therapy? :)

_Hickory, oak, pine and weed_

_Bury my heart underneath these trees_

_And when a southern wind comes to raise my soul_

_Spread my spirit like a flock of crows_

 

Cyclonus never feared death. Not when he was an insanely brave and reckless youngling, not when he was a noble and respectable member of the Tetrahexian high class; not when he was the devout scholar, and not when he was the loyal bodyguard-lieutenant of Galvatron. In the other universe, in the black fields of the void, he became Death itself. He never experienced fear - he was the one whom the others feared of. As a fierce warrior, he brought death; as a member of Clavis Aurea, he knew how Mortilus ways went, and what was Primus’ will in the full circle. He fought Death itself, when finally won over Galvatron and the Dead Universe; he even died at the end, just to be revived by Vector Sigma. Since then he was blewn up by a bomb; he was stabbed; he survived beating, shooting, and the malfunction of the Lost Light’s quantum jump. He practically brushed with death every day; knew it from the inside and the outside. Death was like an old acquaintance, even a friend.

 

And he knew they would meet again today. Mortilus gets his scythe, and starts reaping. No matter how hard they tried to trick their fate; even outlier boosts and makeshift weapons would not be enough. Not for everyone. Primus help them, half of the squad was practically non combatant. He was even certain that some of the mechs would welcome the inevitable death - he was almost sure of Brainstorm, and a few more. And then, there were the reckless ones, like Whirl; he knew death almost as good as him, and if not - he did not seem to care.

 

But Cyclonus himself - no, he said internally. Not now, not today. Not until his last, only, and most important duty comes to an end.

 

_Cause I loved ya for too long_

_I loved ya for too long_

_I loved ya for too long_

 

Cyclonus knew everything about death, and a fairly big amount about life. What he did not know about, what he did not experienced before, that was love. He was truly in love with his planet, he was a true patriot, and physically hurt, when saw, how little remained of Cybertron, and his old, glinting world. But that’s hardly comparable to be attached to another person. Back then, he respected people, he had some acquaintances, even a few friends. He liked some of them, he enjoyed the company of some. He worshipped Primus. But to love, or be loved was not his purpose, even not in his interest. He did not want it at all.

 

Until Tailgate.

 

The stubborn minibot grew on him, started as an annoying parasite, but slowly-but-certainly worked his way up to a friend, and after, over that - something else.

 

He became an inseparable part of his life.

 

He became his life.

 

When he got that new chance, when he joined to the quest of the Lost Light - he did not even feel anything about it. He wanted to make amends, desperately wanted to cure and rebuild his home - but deep down he knew the painful truth - he simply could not do anything about it. He never was some kind of hero, and he was just a warrior, a soldier. What could he do? Sit down, and see his beloved Cybertron fall into slow but utter decay? Clearly, this foolish, makeshift group of Autobots was just a sorry excuse of an actual crew of a military ship, but at least they tried to achieve something. It was not a life, not even a promise.   
Something other than death, though. But not the real thing.

 

He came back to life just because this tiny but very adamant bot pulled him out of his personal pit. He talked, and fussed, and stubbornly refused to give up on him - despite cruel words and painful punches. Tailgate did the heavy lifting here for too long, never wanting anything in return.

 

Which seemed ridiculously fortunate in the beginning: Cyclonus did not even have the slightest idea, how to be… kind, at least. How to express his feelings. How to give. He was a scholar and a bodyguard: he could teach things to him, like old legends, singing in Primal Vernacular; and he could intervene, when anything came to harm the minibot. But in the peaceful silence of their hab suite? How could he possibly good for anything that involves kindness? If Tailgate would expect something like this in exchange, he may have gave in. But he was more patient than that.

 

_Sycamore, ash, moss and loam_

_Wrap your roots all around my bones_

_And when they come for me_

_When they call my name_

_Cast my shadow from a bellow's flame_

 

Nothing lasts forever - not even patience. When Getaway appeared on the stage, Cyclonus suddenly realised that he became late - he waited, he refused, he restrained, he resisted, until it came to him, what he was about to lost. And he clearly lost it - at least, it seemed back then. But the fact he lost the minibot did not affect his instincts; he never could give much, but when he was needed, he was there.

 

For him.

 

And he would be ready to give his life, just to save Tailgate. What else was he good for, anyway? Not that he could give anything else - not that he could possess anything valuable.

 

Just constant disapproval, and a face like a funeral. That was him.

 

_Cause I loved ya for too long_

_I loved ya for too long_

_I loved ya for too long_

 

_So let the storm come_

 

...And the storm came. He did not care neither about Ravage, nor Megatron - in their current state, it took only a few punches and kicks to get rid of them. If he knew about Getaway right then, there wouldn’t be a trial - there would be a funeral. If he wanted to do any harm to the security team, he would.

 

But Tailgate would feel sorry for them. Among the team, there were some guys, acquaintances from Swerve’s - Tailgate hardly could call them friends, but they weren’t the enemy here.

 

So they tried to escape - just to fail. Just to have another rendez-vous with Mortilus, who said, again: Not today. You’ve got duty.

 

_Old heat of a raging fire_

_Come and light my eyes_

_Summer's kiss to electric wire_

_But I'll never die..._

 

Even if not then, some time later he should convinced Tailgate somehow to leave - Cyclonus now sees it, but as the saying goes, if you knew you fell off, you would sit before. Tailgate apparently had an excuse: despite the lessons of this… mess, he was still naive enough not to suspect anything. But him…? He was once a commanding officer, Galvatron’s second. He should know that Getaway is not a beginner, that he has plans behind his plans; he had to sniff this mutiny. Where were his instincts?

 

...Obviously, somewhere else. With someone else.

 

Important things are felt, not spoken, yes. It is true, as he told Whirl not long ago. And true, they not performed a full conjunx rite. Although, when it finally sank, why Tailgate asked him about the four acts - Primus. Just… oh, Primus, and all the gods, help them.

 

There was a night. Right after they liberated Millarium - that night was a shore leave. It was an organic planet, but mostly mountains and plains. Not even remotely as beautiful as Cybertron - Cyclonus doubted he will even see any landscape like that. But even the most sorry pile of junk  had something - it had an open sky, painted with stars, and moons, and a sun, and clouds. Cyclonus was not an astronomer, but knew a thing or two about certain constellations, and finally, they got a rare opportunity - stargaze not through a window, but with their own eyes.

During the evening, when everyone feasted with the indigenous people of the planet, they simply escaped. They found a mountain, remarkably far, nice plateau on top.

 

Just the two of the, laying down there, stargazing. Together.

 

Cyclonus lost his ability to spoke for a while. He was not a mecha of words; he was better with actions.

 

Important things are felt, not spoken.

 

So he decided, he wanted to feel the proximity of the minibot. He reached out, and with a light, featherweight touch, he stroked the hand of Tailgate.

 

Cyclonus was a restrained mech. He always kept his EM field very low, and hardly tried to reach out to others’ to read them. But he couldn’t unnotice the sudden wave, which came from Tailgate. It was rich, and colorful, and full of emotions - it spoke like Tailgate, when he was excited, and try to tell everything at once, with one breath. And apparently, it turned out that he could even restrain himself - he did not let it go before, he tried not to bother the flier with himself. And when he finally got affirmative, it was like water bursting through a dam.

 

They reached out to each other. There was no choreography: - light touches - strong EM-waves - gazing in the optics, sky completely forgotten - caresses everywhere - slowly built up charge. A retracted faceplate. Kisses - first, uncertain ones, more confident ones later. And bright optics - it seemed that none of them could get enough of the sight of the other, they did not even dim their sensors, like it could take a blink for the other to disappear.

 

Hands caressing seams on chests. Fire follows. Heat built up.

 

Kisses becoming more hungry, breaking the silence by soft, quiet moans and growls.

 

Hiss of retracting chest plates, almost at the same time.

 

Exposed sparks.

 

Desperate hugs, as they tried to pull closer and more closer each other.

 

...It felt like their sparks kissed each other.

 

_Summer's kiss to electric wire_

 

Overload flushed over them in waves, as their sparks merged. Tailgate shouted Cyclonus’ designation, like a desperate call, Cyclonus murmured Tailgates name repeatedly, like a mantra. Nothing else, not another word.

 

What for?

 

Felt, not spoken.

 

_I will never die_

_You can bury my body but I'll never die._

 

_In the dead of the night_

_I'm gonna loose this chain_

_I'm gonna run and run and run and run and run_

_I'm gonna run and run and run and run_

_Coming for you again_

 

_Oh_

_So let the storm come_

 

_Old heat of a raging fire_

_Come and light my eyes_

_Summer's kiss to electric wire_

_But I'll never die..._

 

One duty. Only one; lasts until Tailgate lives. Lasts because Tailgate lives. Lasts, so Tailgate lives.

Protecting him, whatever be the price. It doesn’t matter how strong Tailgate became. It doesn’t matter if he easily separates the sea of the genericons to two parts. Doesn’t matter, how many successful Power Punch has been given. Doesn’t matter, if Tailgate is technically invulnerable. He will be there, and do what he is best at: fight for his loved one’s safety.

 

And oh Primus, how good it feels. How easy to maneuver his altmode between bigger mechs and shorter ‘cons, while he shots precisely and fatally. He knows that Tailgate is not exactly fond of killing, but in this scenario, there are no restraints. Nothing is too expensive in order to protect him.

 

This will unlikely be his last battle - until Tailgate lives, he has to manage it also, otherwise who will be at his service, who would protect the minibot? But if, against all odds, this would be a tougher nut that expected, he will at least kill as many of them, as he can. So Tailgate will have more time to escape, or fewer enemies to deal with.

 

So he became Death himself, again. Wherever his engines roam, there is death. Wherever they see him, they came to an end. He brings elegant and inevitable death among them, like a winged servant of Mortilus.

 

Then he spots Overlord.

 

The phase sixer did not notice Tailgate yet, but the direction is clear. No time and place for maneuvers, Cyclonus initiates a frontal attack, blasters on maximum, aiming to the optics.

 

One slam. One hit. One movement.

 

A small, disapproving voice, as Cyclonus found himself half-threw into the ground, and lost his consciousness.

 

He can’t die yet…!

 

He has a duty!

 

His last thought for now is Tailgate - and the fear of death. Not his own.  

 

_I will never die_

 

_You can bury my body but I'll never die_

 

_Hickory, oak, pine and weed_

_Bury my heart underneath these trees_


End file.
